


Interruption

by cecilkirk



Series: fic prompts [17]
Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ryden, angst if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 06:51:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's not welcomed, but it doesn't stop him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interruption

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Ryan’s fingers pick at one corner of the menu absentmindedly. “Not nothing. Why are you staring at me?”

Brendon feels heat bloom in his cheeks. An easy smile begins to form, something akin to embarrassment. Drenched in the warm, dim lights, he had thought he’d felt some semblance of courage from anonymity; no one knew who they were in this town, so he should be able to say what he feels.

Right?

Ryan cocks his head slightly, pursing his lips. “What’s so funny, Bren?”

The clicking of keratin on plastic becomes incessant.

“It’s not—” Brendon puts his face in his hands for a moment, trying to wipe away his blush and grin. “It’s not like that. It’s—you’re just really cute, all right? And I can’t look away. I don’t want to.”

Ryan blinks, blinks, blinks. His hands still and his eyes fall. “Oh.” His voice is dampened by the blush on his own face.

“Yeah. And…” Brendon inhales deeply, as deep as he can. He needs all the oxygen-given courage he can get to say this. “I—”

“Hey, motherfuckers!”

Deadweight slams against Brendon, shoving him across the bench seat. Pete throws an arm over Brendon’s shoulder.

“What is this—faking a date to get money off a meal? Smooth move, guys.” Pete takes Brendon’s water, downing a third of it in one gulp. Brendon’s jaw clenches.

“We know how to beat the system,” Ryan says, jaw propped up on the heel of his hand, fingers curling against his cheek. He looks at Brendon and smiles, not trying to melt away Brendon’s frustration so much as mock him for it.

Brendon’s eyes narrow.

Pete nearly drops the glass on the table. “Beating the system, yeah? Remember when we did that, Ross?”

Ryan’s eyes flicker. “Are you talking about when you tricked an old woman into getting us beer and cigarettes? And how she refused and backhanded you in the middle of the parking lot?”

Brendon can feel Pete’s shoulders shrug against his own. “Well, hey, it’s the thought that counts. And it beats that time when you tried to use cardboard to steal gumballs from the convenience store machine.”

“Hey!” Ryan says, pulling his hand away to point at Pete. “At least that worked.”

“Yeah, true,” Pete replies. “But remember when…”

Brendon’s eyes float down to the menu in front of him. As the stories progress—as Ryan’s laughter gets louder—Brendon feels an achy sadness creep into his thoughts. Maybe it was a waste of time bringing Ryan here. Maybe Ryan didn’t even like him all that much.

Brendon swallows, letting the ink glaze his eyes. He blots out story after story, but Ryan’s laughter—god, it pierces through his ribs. It’s low and rumbling when he giggles, but when he laughs hard like this, it’s awkward and pitchy and completely embarrasses him, turning his cheeks pink and causing him to cover his mouth. But it’s absolutely wonderful. Every time Ryan would laugh at something Brendon would say, he could feel warmth between his ribs. He could feel his own complementary laugh bubble up his throat, and he couldn’t fight a smile.

Hearing it being drug out from Pete’s stupid, clunky stories was sickening, enough so for Brendon to skip anger and fall directly to sadness.

Maybe it was ridiculous, but he felt like he was losing Ryan already. There would always be someone to make him laugh when Brendon couldn’t.

There would always be someone better.

“Hey, Brendon?”

His head shoots up, ripping him from his thoughts.

“You all right? You look like there’s something on your mind.”

Ryan’s face is warm from laughing. An easy smile graces his lips. Brendon feels his stomach knot; he knows he’s not the reason for it.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, looking back at the menu. He’s aware of the space Pete left behind, but it still encroaches.

“No, something’s not right,” Ryan says. He slides out of his seat and into Brendon’s. “What’s wrong?”

Brendon takes in Ryan’s eyes, trying to imprint them into his corneas. He tries to make it feel less desperate than it does innately. “It’s nothing. Really.”

Ryan searches Brendon’s eyes for a moment, flittering in terse jumps. “Okay. If you’re sure.” He kisses Brendon’s cheek, nose pressing into cheekbone. “I love you.”

“What?” Brendon barks, jumping back, smashing his elbow against the table.

Ryan’s face turns a deep red almost instantly. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t—I must have been getting the wrong vibe. Never mind that, I’m—”

“No,” Brendon says, rubbing his elbow. “Don’t apologize. I was…” He grins again, easy and embarrassed, blood finding his face. “I was going to say the same thing.”

Ryan blinks, blinks. “Oh,” he says. A smile begins to curl his lips ever so slightly.

Brendon kisses Ryan, both able to fight their smiles for a moment. And only that moment; once they pull away, both have grins larger than life—awkward, embarrassed, but genuine.

“I love you,” Brendon says.

Ryan puts his face in his hands a moment. “I love you too.” His voice is smooth, easy, reduced to liquid by their newfound shared knowledge.

Not knowing what to do next—he never did, and part of him hoped he never would—Brendon wraps his arms around Ryan. He presses his nose into the crook of Ryan’s neck and shoulder, catching shirt and skin in his kiss. His lips bloom into a smile, and he pulls Ryan as close as he can. He had been wrong—so, so hugely, enormously, completely wrong—and he couldn’t have been more glad.


End file.
